


Ravenclaw House

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OUAT/ Hogwarts fluff, primarily centered around best friend Ravenclaw students Belle French and Neal Cassidy. Eventual Rumbelle and Swanfire. *Not related to my other Hogwarts story, which I am still working on. Other Characters: Emma and David Nolan (Gryffindor twins) Killian Jones (Slytherin) Regina Mills (Slytherin) Rumanus Gold (Ravenclaw).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 Belle weaved her trolley through the gaps in the crowd at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, struggling to keep the owl cage that held Archimedes steady. The platform was a whirlwind of movement and noise: trolleys squeaked as they rushed past her, owls squawking indignantly when their cages collided. Trunks were being lifted onto the train as parents hugged their children, reminding them to write and would they please _try_ to stay out of trouble? 

She watched as a boy and girl, both blonde and wide-eyed, crashed through the portal onto the platform, looking awestruck. Belle snorted. _Muggle-born._ They were impressed _so_ easily. 

“David, look,” the girl gasped, pointing at the Hogwarts Express. “It’s so _big._ ”

“I see it,” he breathed. 

A whistle blew, loud and piercing. “Fifteen minutes to departure!” a man’s voice called. 

Feeling a little panicked, Belle pushed her trolley to the loading dock, the wheels jerking as she fought past the hustle and bustle. She gripped the handle of her trunk and tugged, but it refused to budge.

“Come on, _please_?” she begged, pulling harder. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers aching as she tried to move it, if only an inch—

“Here, I got it.” A boy appeared at her side, taking the handle from her. Belle caught her breath as he gave it a good strong tug and pulled it off the trolley, grunting as it fell rather heavily to the ground. “Sorry,” he said, sounding a little out of breath. 

“No, no, thank you!” Belle scrambled to help him push it onto the ramp to load it onto the train. 

“There we go,” he said cheerfully, wiping his hands before offering her one to shake. “I’m Neal.”

“Belle,” she smiled, shaking his hand. “Thanks for that, I’ve _no_ idea how I could have done that without you.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry about it.” He started walking backward, giving her a wave. “See you later.” Belle waved back, watching him disappear into the crowd.

She lifted Archimedes’ cage, holding it gingerly as he started flapping his wings restlessly. “Oh, _hush_ ,” she said irritably, climbing the train’s narrow steps.

The compartments were small, but comfortable-looking. Belle peered through the sliding doors’ semi-opaque panes, trying to find an empty one, but most had already been filled. By the time she’d found one, her arm was aching from the effort of holding Archimedes’ cage. Gratefully, she set him down, pulling out _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_. She pulled her knees up and leaned between the cushion and the window, preparing to lose herself in the textbook. 

Somewhere between the introduction and the middle of the first chapter, the train had started to move. She didn’t bother looking out the window to watch all the parents waving farewell to their children, shouting out last-minute _I love you!’_ s. Her father was a Healer at St. Mungo’s, far too busy with patients to be able to see her off.

She had just started reading about the Ministry’s Official Ethical Guidelines when the door to her compartment slid open. She glanced up to see a boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes smirking at her.

“Anyone sitting here?” he asked, inviting himself in. Belle frowned as he threw himself into the opposite seat, making himself at home as he propped his feet on the edge of her seat.

 _He’s just looking for attention,_ she told herself, going back to her book. _Don’t give it to him._

 _“_ Are you reading a _textbook_?”

Belle flicked her eyes up. “No, just looking at the pictures,” she said dryly. The boy raised his eyebrows, grinning as he folded his arms behind his head. 

“Muggle-born?” he asked, disdain coloring the question.

Belle narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said coolly. “Unless a ‘yes’ would get you to move to another compartment?”

“Ooh-hoo-hoo, _not_ very nice,” the boy said, smiling nastily. Belle said nothing; only lowered her gaze back to the page. She ignored his shoes tapping softly against hers, focusing instead on when it was and when it was not appropriate to perform a memory charm on a Muggle. 

“You do know that Hogwarts has _teachers?_ You don’t have to learn it all on the train ride over.”

Belle clenched her teeth, but kept her eyes fixed on her book. He was trying to get a rise out of her, that was all. She could handle a stupid boy; no reason to lose her temper.

“Unless you _are_ Muggle-born, and you don’t want to look stupid in front of everyone, so you’re cramming before we get there.”

Must not lose her temper, not again. 

“Probably have some idiot Muggle for a father…”

She tightened her grip on the book, trying to steady her breathing.

“…some Muggle cow for a mother—”

“ _Shut up!”_

She had thrown the book down and was now glaring fiercely at the boy. His eyes flashed, his mouth twisting into a mocking smile.

“Oh…I seem to have hit a nerve. I must be getting close.”

In a flurry of movement, her wand was out, pointed threateningly at the boy. He glanced at it, a flicker of fear in his eyes, but then it was gone and he was smirking at her just as before.

“Go ahead,” he challenged. “Impress me.”

“Get lost,  Jones.”

Belle turned her head: Neal was standing in the doorway, giving the other boy a very ugly look. Jones narrowed his eyes, slowly pushing himself off the seat. “Or what?” he asked, brushing past Belle without giving her a second glance. 

“Leave her alone, she’s not bothering you.” Neal folded his arms. 

“And?” Jones stopped in front of Neal, giving him an icy smile. “I don’t seem to remember asking you for your opinion.”

“Maybe we should get your brother’s.” Neal raised his eyebrows. “He’s a prefect, isn’t he? Bet he’d love this.”

“Going to tell on me?” Jones sneered. 

“Just trying to give you one last chance to back off.”

“Why? Think you can take me on?”

“I don’t know, but I reckon she can,” Neal said, nodding toward Belle. She fought a smile as Jones involuntarily glanced at her wand. He met her eyes coldly, and scoffed.

“I’ve got better things to do, anyway,” he said, roughly pushing past Neal, and out the compartment. Neal watched him go, the sour look lingering on his face, before he turned back to Belle.

“Don’t worry about him,” he said. “He’s not worth it.”

Belle smiled at him. “Thank you. Again.”

Neal shyly scratched the back of his head. “’S’nothing,” he shrugged. “Look, I don’t know if you wanted to be alone so you could concentrate, but… well, we’ve got space for you in our compartment if…if you want.”

Belle fiddled with a hole in her sleeve. She hadn’t had a lot of friends back home; she’d spent most of her time looking through Flourish and Blotts at books she couldn’t afford. “Erm…yeah. Yeah, all right, then. Let me just get Archimedes.”

 

* * *

 

 

“And Dad was just standing there pointing, ‘Look at the owl! Look the owl!’” Emma clutched her brother’s arm, rocking in laughter. Belle smiled around her half-eaten Pumpkin Pasty, still not entirely sure why Emma and David’s father was put off by owl post.

“We’d never even _heard_ of Hogwarts before the letters came,” David grinned. “Mum thought it was a joke at first—”

“She chucked the first four letters. Then she got this red envelope—”

“—and it opened up like a mouth, and started shouting at her!”

“A Howler from the Ministry?” Neal snickered. “Your poor mother.”

“A what?” Emma said, unwrapping another Chocolate Frog.

“That’s what we call them, the screaming letters,” Belle explained. “Howlers.”

Emma and David exchanged a look of wonder. 

“Howlers,” Emma repeated.

“Screaming letters.” David shook his head, laughing. “God, I love magic.”

At first, she had thought Neal’s compartment was a bit cramped, what with four people crammed in there, but Belle quite liked it. The food trolley had come round, and Neal had dug a pouch out of his pocket and deposited a few Galleons in the witch’s hand. 

“Dad’s pretty generous about pocket money,” he had said in response to everyone’s wide eyes. “Got a high level Ministry job, and it’s only the two of us, so…” A shadow crossed his features, but just as quickly, he shook his head and grinned. “Come on, let’s spoil our dinner.”

The twins had marveled at everything that was passed to them. David gasped when a Fizzing Whizbee lifted him a few inches above his seat while Emma squealed at the Chocolate Frog jumping in her hand. Neal and Belle had laughed at their amazement, especially when they gave them Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavored Beans to try.

“It’s…oh, God, it’s _awful_!” Emma gagged on a burnt rubber bean.

“You actually like these?” David said in disbelief, still trying to get the taste of overcooked broccoli out of his mouth. “They’re disgusting!”

“That’s the point!” Neal laughed. 

“My _God_ , just think what Mum would say if she saw these,” Emma said, staring at the box. “She’d go absolutely mental.”

“Really?” Belle said, wrinkling her nose. 

“Oh, yeah,” David said, nodding emphatically. “You should have seen her when we got our letters…”

By the time the twins had finished explaining their very Muggle parents and their very Muggle reactions, the sky had grown dark. Neal leaned past Emma to peer out the window, cupping his hand around it.

“’S’pect we’ll be arriving soon,” he said. “I can see the castle from here.”

“Is it true we have to cross the moat in little boats?” Emma asked, tapping him on the shoulder. “I heard a prefect talking about it earlier.”

“Only first years have to cross in the boats,” Neal said, sitting back. “We’ve got to get Sorted first. Everyone else just goes to their House table in the Great Hall.”

“Houses?” David raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” Belle promised. 

The train slowed, dragging along the tracks for a good twenty minutes before it halted to a stop in front of the castle. Belle felt her mouth open in awe, staring at the enormity of it. Even through the darkness, she could make out the impossibly tall towers, the great stone walls reaching toward the heavens with infinite windows. 

“Oh, my God,” Emma gasped. “David, look.”

“I see it,” he breathed.

 

* * *

 

Belle shivered in the Great Hall, still feeling the chill from the lake in her bones. It had been bitterly cold, the wind biting at her skin as little waves underneath the boat had slapped her arms. She was grateful for the warmth of the castle now, but she still kept rubbing her arms furiously.

The first years had been alphabetically lined up before being Sorted. Belle was thankful her name was closer to the beginning, so she wouldn’t have to stand with the older students staring at her for long.

After the Sorting Hat had sung through the four Houses (a rather jaunty number, Belle thought, unable to stop from tapping her feet), Professor McGonagall had unfurled the roster and began calling out names in her sharp, severe voice. She had gone through the A’s, the B’s, and part of the C’s when she called out a name Belle recognized.

“Cassidy, Neal!”

Neal stumbled forward. Belle smiled to herself as McGonagall placed the Hat on his head. He looked nervous, his shoulders slightly hunched with the effort of balancing it while it thought.

“RAVENCLAW!”

The Ravenclaws whooped and cheered, clapping their hands together as Neal grinned and scampered off to sit with them. Belle beamed: she already knew she was going to be in Ravenclaw, her entire family had been. She felt less nervous, now that Neal had been Sorted into Ravenclaw: she’d been hoping they’d be in the same House. 

Eventually, McGonagall called out, “French, Belle!” and she took a deep breath, trying to settle the horrible fluttering feeling in her stomach. As she took her seat on the stool, she felt the weight of a hundred thousand eyes on her. Her breath hitched as McGonagall placed the Hat on her: it was _heavy_. She could hear its voice in her head, sifting through her thoughts, as she clutched the side of the stool with white fingers.

“Oh, very bright…bold, but not quite brave…there’s compassion, patience…oh ho, bit of a temper, too, eh?…But what a mind, what a great mind, what a clever girl you are. Perfect fit for… RAVENCLAW!”

The Ravenclaws cheered. Belle hopped off the stool happily, practically skipping toward them. Neal, clapping and whooping along with the others, caught her eye and patted the seat next to his. She beamed at him, sitting down and accepting his whispered, “Congratulations!” before they turned around to watch the rest of the Sorting. 

It wasn’t until the professor called “Jones, Killian!” that Belle felt anything less than delight. But when she recognized the arrogant set of his shoulders as he swaggered up to the stool, she felt her hands clench into fists. The Sorting Hat sat on his head for all of ten seconds before it decided on: “SLYTHERIN!”

Jones smirked, as if he was completely unsurprised by his Sorting, and went over to sit with the other Slytherins. Neal muttered something in disgust.

Emma and David both became Gryffindors, the Sorting Hat resting slightly longer on David then Emma, who’d barely touched it before it Sorted her. Belle and Neal cheered along with the Gryffindors as the twins proudly took their places. 

By the time the Sorting had finished, Belle’s stomach was grumbling. She hadn’t realized how many first years there were; or for that matter, how long the headmaster could talk. Most of his speech seemed to be filled with warnings about this corridor and that corridor, wandering into the Dark Forest alone, something about thestrals, and a lot about Mr. Filch’s newly instated rules. Belle found herself drifting off around Rule Seventeen  (“Chocolate Frogs are banned from the library indefinitely!”) and it wasn’t until Neal jerked her elbow that she was even aware the speeches had finished.

“And now, everyone, I would ask that you remember to chew and swallow your food entirely! Tuck in!”

The empty tables instantly filled with more food Belle had ever seen in her life. There were heaps of potatoes, mounds of different vegetables, entire chickens glistening under the candlelight, all sorts of soups and chowder in great big bowls with ladles floating in them, mountains of bread, five different meats that she didn’t recognize in the slightest (although, she was convinced the purplish one was _dragon_ ), and who knew what else? 

“So which class are you most looking forward to?” Neal asked, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

“Potions, I think,” Belle said, scooping greens on her plate. “You?”

“Quidditch,” he grinned. “I know it’s not exactly a class, and there’s no way I can make the team this year, but we _do_ get flying lessons. And you know what flying means?”

“Er…”

“Brooms!” he said enthusiastically. “I’ve been asking my dad for a new broom for months now, I’ve had my eye on this really cool new Cleansweep…”

Neal launched into an in-depth discussion of his dream-broom, talking about things like aerodynamic bristles and air-current-catching handles. Somehow, that bled into a discussion about Quidditch teams, and how the Cannons were never going to win, not even if they Stupefied the entire World Cup Stadium. In the middle of Neal’s tirade against the Tornadoes’ new Keeper, another first year boy (who Belle recognized as “Hatter, Jefferson!”) joined in, arguing that the Tornadoes had been showing promise for years. They continued bickering until the plates had been cleared and the prefects were ordered to guide the first years to the dormitories. 

“Is it true we’ve got to answer to a riddle to get into the Ravenclaw rooms?” Jefferson asked as they followed the prefects out. 

“I think so,” Belle said. “Cleverest House, and all…s’pose it only makes sense.”

“What if you can’t get it?” he said, a little nervously. “Do you just… sit there and wait? Until someone else gets it?”

“That’s why I’m friends with her,” Neal said brightly, jutting his thumb at Belle. “She’ll get it.”

Belle flushed at his praise, and even more at the fact that he said they were _friends._ Oh, yes. Ravenclaw House was going to work out quite nicely for her.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m Madam Hooch,” the spiky-haired, severe-looking woman said, placing her hands behind her back. “Welcome to your first flying lesson.”

Belle looked down at the broom apprehensively. Madam Hooch really expected her to _fly_ on this little twig?

“I want you all to extend your right hand over the broom, and say ‘Up!’” She demonstrated, the broom flying instantly into her hand. “Don’t worry if you can’t get it right away. It takes practice, and that’s what we’re here for. Go on, now.”

“Up!” To Belle’s dismay, Jones’s broom flew into his hands on the first try. 

“Probably practiced all summer for that,” Neal muttered in her ear as Jones leaned against his broomstick, watching her with his usual infuriating smirk. “Up!”

“Up!” Belle commanded. “Up!” The broom rolled around a little, but stayed firmly on the ground. “Up! This is _impossible._ ” 

“Up!” Emma’s voice rang out. “Up! David, did you see? Did you see?”

“Up!” David frowned down at his broom, concentrating deeply. “Up!”

“Up!” Neal caught his broom triumphantly. “Whoa, did you see that? Nearly got me in the eye!”

There were plenty of minor injuries: brooms smacking into heads, some levitating to whack their owners in the shins. It wasn’t until a Hufflepuff girl’s broom flew forcefully enough to make a sickening _crack!_ against her wrist that Madam Hooch declared a visit to the hospital wing necessary. 

“Now, all of you _stay here,_ ” she ordered, helping Blanchard to her feet. “No one is to even _think_ about flying while I take Miss Blanchard to the hospital wing.”

Jones waited until Madam Hooch had disappeared inside the castle; then, he swung his leg over the broom and pushed off from the ground, shooting straight up.

“Idiot,” Neal scoffed, watching him zoom through the air. “Hope he gets expelled.”

“Madam Hooch said _not_ to fly!” Emma yelled after him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jones skidded to halt, dropping to the ground effortlessly. Tucking his broom over his shoulder, he sauntered over to Emma, ignoring David protectively stepping forward.

“Do you always do what teachers tell you?” he challenged. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Seems to me like you’d be better off as a Hufflepuff.”

“That’s enough, Jones,” said a quiet voice. 

Belle looked over, her eyes landing on a thin, intelligent-looking boy with dark hair, the tips just brushing his shoulders. A blue-and-bronze crest adorned his robes, revealing him to be another Ravenclaw. 

“Sorry, what’s that, Gold?” Jones didn't seem very intimidated by the boy. “Can’t quite understand you, the accent’s a bit thick.”

“I said, that’s enough,” Gold repeated, stepping forward. Belle frowned slightly, noting how he seemed to favor his right leg. “Let’s not bring Houses into this.”

“I was being polite,” Jones said, turning back to smirk at a glaring Emma.“I could have brought Mudbloods into this.”

Emma’s brow twitched as everyone gasped: she didn’t know what “Mudbloods” were, but she could tell it was offensive. Neal folded his hands in fists, breathing hard as he pushed past Gold to glower at the Slytherin boy.

“Take it back,” he growled. “And don’t ever let me catch you calling her that again.”

Jones raised his eyebrows.“What do you care?” he scoffed. “Perfect little pureblood like you, what do you care about some pathetic Mudblood—?”

“Take it _back!”_ Neal said angrily, roughly shoving his shoulder. Jones took a step back to steady himself before he shoved the other boy back.

“Both of you, stop!” Belle watched through her fingers as Gold held his arms out between to keep them apart. The two boys glared at each other past his head, fuming. Gold slowly lowered his arms, and jutted his chin at Jones. “Go on, now. Run along.”

Jones smiled mockingly past him at Neal. “Good thing you’ve got _Gold_ to protect you,” he said, glancing meaningfully at his left leg.“Next time you might not be so lucky!”

Neal shot him a furious look, but Gold gripped his arm and tugged him away. Jones kept his eyes on them, not even noticing the fist swinging toward him from the side. He yelped as Emma slammed a punch in his face, making him stumble backward and fall on his  back. She glared down at him, her fist still folded tightly at her side.

“I don’t know what a ‘Mudblood’ is,” she said through clenched teeth, “but I _do_ know that if you _ever_ call me, my brother, or anyone else that, you’ll get a lot more than a punch to the face.”

Jones stared up at her in wonder, holding his jaw, as everyone looked on in amazement. Neal sucked in his breath beside Belle, watching Emma pick up her broom and walk away with her chin held high. 

“Blimey,” he muttered. “Don’t get on _her_ bad side.”

* * *

By her second week at Hogwarts, Emma decided that Potions was, surprisingly, one of the more frightening classes. Transfiguration was difficult, Charms fun, and History of Magic impossibly dull; but Potions had sent three students to the hospital wing the first week alone. True, she’d been far from broken-hearted when Jones poured too much dragon acid in his potion, and it spat up and burned him; but then it sprayed her from across the aisle, and they’d spent a miserable afternoon in adjacent hospital beds. 

Herbology was, if possible, worse. Emma was right to feel apprehensive when Professor Sprout asked everyone to take out their dragon-hide gloves and follow her to greenhouse three. “I need everyone to pay attention, please! We’re going to be repotting Fanged Geraniums,” she announced, snapping on her own gloves. “We’re only working with sproutlings today, so they haven’t got full fangs yet. However, they _will_ try to bite you and some of them have got a nasty set of baby teeth.”

Emma pulled on her gloves, and looked over at Neal and Belle, the two of them crowded around a baby Fanged Geranium. She wasn’t surprised they were partners: the two of them had been inseparable since the first day, as far as she could tell. Across from her, she could see Jones and a dark-haired Slytherin girl, neither of whom looked very pleased with the arrangement. Emma smirked: she couldn’t imagine anyone who would be _pleased_ to work with Jones. 

Professor Sprout showed them how to grip their Geraniums and lift them into pots with fresh soil. “Remember what I said about the teeth!” she said as she finished the demonstration. “And I’ll want a diagram by the end of the week, labelling the different fangs, so I hope you all brought your sketchbooks!”

There was a flurry of movement as everyone pulled their sketchbooks from their bags. Emma tossed her own on the table, and looked over at David. “Go on, then” she said, nodding toward the Geranium. “Grab it.”

“Your hands are smaller, you do it.”

“What’s the matter, Nolan?” Jones grinned, raising his eyebrows tauntingly. “Scared?”

“Shut it, Jones, you haven’t pulled yours up, either,” David said witheringly. 

“I’ve got Mills taking care of that for me, don’t I?” he smirked as the Slytherin girl yanked their Fanged Geranium out of the soil.

“Ignore him,” Emma muttered.

David made a face as she wrapped her hand around the stalk and pulled straight up. The Fanged Geranium had a wrinkled, smushed face, its mouth opening in an infantile cry to reveal needle-like teeth. Emma dropped it into the fresh soil, grimacing. 

“Now what?”

“How the bloody hell should I know? Was I paying attention? _No._ ”

Emma exhaled, and leaned forward to look past him at Neal and Belle: they had already packed their Geranium in soil, and now Belle was gingerly holding open the mouth while Neal scribbled away on his sketchpad. “Get some soil and cover him,” she said to David, and bent down to retrieve a pencil from her bag. “Then hold him still while I sketch.”

“Why do I have to hold him?” David complained.

“Because I’ve done everything else, haven't I?” Emma snapped. “So, go on!”

David grumbled under his breath, but obliged and tossed a pile of dirt on the Geranium while Emma flipped her sketchpad open to a fresh sheet. Jones and Mills were bickering back and forth now, about who had to sketch and who had to hold the Geranium, which did nothing for her concentration.

“Oi!” she hissed. “Keep it down, I can’t sketch with the pair of you going at it!”

“Can’t sketch, either way,” David muttered. 

“Shut up, David.”

He frowned, elbowing her in the ribs; Emma impatiently elbowed him back, and for a minute, there was a little scuffle between them until David said, “All right, I’m sorry! Just sketch it!”

Emma gave him a withering smile as he pried open the Geranium’s mouth. “Took you long enough. But hold it open wider—I can’t see the molars.”

David was right about one thing: she really couldn't sketch. She ended up making two lines of triangles, and hastily scribbling in the margins: “molar” and “bicuspid” and “canine”. David snorted at her pathetic attempt, though the Geraniums avenged her by snapping at his fingers.

“All right, pack it up, everyone!” Sprout called out, clapping her hands together. “Remember, I want a sketch from each of you!”

“You’ll let me copy yours later, yeah?”David said, nudging her as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah, ‘course,” she shrugged. “Catch up with you in a bit, okay? I just want to see if I can get these petals.”

“Hurry up,” he advised.”Before Sprout tosses you out.”

Emma nodded vacantly, working on outlining the splayed petals. She exhaled irritably as she had to scrub her eraser against her parchment for the fourth time, barely registering the sound of shoes scuffling behind her and coming to a stop. 

“You’ve made a right mess of that, haven't you?” Neal’s voice said cheerfully in her ear. Emma glanced over her shoulder to see him studying her drawing.

“I’m having some trouble,” she said, mildly embarrassed. “I can’t get the petals.”

“Or the teeth,” Neal grinned, taking the sketchpad from her. “Here, let me show you.”

Emma stood back, standing on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder as he turned to a fresh sheet and stroked the pencil across.

“Don’t try to get it all at once,” he explained, tracing vague shapes. “A circle for the the flower…skinny triangle for the stem…and then the teeth are circles at the base there, do you see?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Emma said, unable to fathom how he managed to pick out different shapes in the tangle of jagged petals and fangs before them. She raised her eyebrows, impressed, as she watched him transform the lines and circles into a flower. “Wow. You’re really good at this.”

Neal shrugged, handing  it back to her. “Not so hard, if you know how to look at it.”

“Thanks.” Emma offered him a smile as she took the sketchpad. “And I never thanked you for…you know, when Jones called me a—”

“Don’t say it,” Neal said darkly. “It’s a really foul word.”

“It is?” Emma said in surprise, walking beside him as he started making his way out of the greenhouse. “I could tell it was rude, but I didn't know it was all that bad.”

“Yeah, well…” Neal looked down at his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re Muggleborn, so you don’t know, but there are some wizards who think having nonmagical blood is…I don’t know, _shameful_ or something. Most of us know it doesn't make a difference: a witch is a witch is a witch. But there are some Wizarding families that think they’re better than everyone else because they’re _pureblood._ Magic blood on both sides.”

Emma frowned, remembering the exchange at the flying lesson. “Jones called you a pureblood, didn't he?”

Neal nodded. “I am,” he said quietly. “I don’t care, either way, but I think he’s jealous. He’s only a half-blood himself.”

“You’ve known him a long time, then?”

“Our families live close to each other,” Neal said stiffly. “I know him well enough.” Not a happy acquaintance at all, judging from the sour look on his face when he spoke about him. Emma cleared her throat, eager to change the subject.

“Well, thanks, anyway,” she said. “It was nice of you to stick up for me like that.”

Neal glanced at her sideways, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I saw that punch you gave him. Seems you didn't need me, after all.”

“I didn’t,” she agreed pleasantly. “But it was still nice.”

* * *

Belle set her bag down on the library table with a sigh, the books in there clattering together and falling heavily. Reluctantly, she pulled them out and started stacking them in piles.

Charms…Potions…Transfiguration…History of Magic. Four essays, each with scroll length requirements longer than the last, and all due within the week. _What_ Neal was playing at, spending his Saturday afternoon watching the Quidditch tryouts, she didn't know: she was worried she’d have enough time to eat and sleep, let alone think about some silly game. 

“Let’s see,” she muttered, sitting herself down in her seat. “Where to start?”

She tapped her fingers indecisively for a minute, then settled on Transfiguration. It was the most difficult, after all: it would be nice to get it out of the way. She cracked open the book and flipped it to the third chapter.

With a small sigh, she rested her chin on her hand and lowered her eyes to the page. _When transfiguring between objects of differing sizes, one must consider the realignment of atoms. According to Balthazar’s Law, the atomic energy must reconfigure…_

She began to doze off. It was so very dull and she was so very tired… _But homework,_ a voice in her head insisted. _Later,_ she told it. Just a small nap, just to rest her eyes for a minute—

“Oh!” She jumped in her seat as something bounced off her forehead, blinking at a small paper airplane fluttering to the table. 

“Whoops,” a voice chuckled from the other side of the room. Belle looked up to see Gold walking over to her, a sheepish smile on his face. He was still twirling his wand deftly between his fingers, even as he leaned across the table to snap up the paper airplane.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I was…I got bored.”

“It’s okay,” Belle said, rather surprised to hear him talk. He was so quiet in class: always hovered near the back of the room, kept his nose in his books and stayed bent over his notes. Yet, here he was…pulling out the chair across from her.

“Are you working on McGonagall’s essay?” he asked. 

“Erm…trying to,” she said, suddenly realizing she had no idea what his first name was. She stuck out her hand, attempting a friendly smile. “I’m Belle.”

“Rumanus,” he returned, giving her hand a firm shake. “You’re friends with Neal Cassidy.”

“Yeah.” Belle withdrew her hand. “You are, too, I take it?”

“Not really,” Gold said absently, pointing his wand at the airplane and making it float in a lazy circle over her head. “I know him.”

Belle raised her eyebrows: he seemed pleasant enough, but he was clearly showing off; she could tell from the smug little smile that tugged at his mouth. Used to being the cleverest in the room, no doubt; and delighted by the chance to prove it.

Belle tilted her head back to look at the airplane. “Is that all you can do?” she asked, feigning disinterest. “It’s a fairly simple spell, isn't it?”

Gold’s eyebrows jumped, but he smiled. “Is that a challenge?”

“Yes,” she said simply. 

“All right.” He narrowed his eyes in concentration, then gave his wand a complicated little flourish. The airplane exploded in a little shower of blue and gold fireworks, small enough to dance in the palm of her hand. Belle’s eyes widened as she looked back at Gold, who was watching her with a small smile on his face. 

“That wasn't in _Standard Book of Spells,_ ” she said.

“Nope,” he agreed cheerfully. 

“Where did you learn it?”

“I invented it,” he shrugged.

 _What?_ Belle shook her head confusedly. “What do you mean, you _invented_ it?”

He smiled, showing white, pointy little teeth. “I’m what you’d call a prodigy. My aunts have been teaching me magic since I was a tot.” He examined the wand, looking at it the way a painter does a paintbrush. “I used to use my mum’s old wand, but now that I’ve got a proper one of my own…well, spells work much better.”

A shadow flitted across his face when he’d mentioned his mother, despite the casual tone in his voice. Belle recognized the resigned grief in his eyes and felt her heart clench sympathetically. 

“My mum’s gone, too,” she said quietly. Gold slowly lowered his wand, looking at her in surprise as she went on. “She was quite a gifted witch, once, but…a spell went wrong one day, and…”

“Mine left,” Gold said shortly. “My dad was a Muggle. Didn't know she was a witch until I started sparking magic. Made her choose between him and magic.” He frowned, kneading his fist into the table. “And she chose him. Left me, and chose him.”

Belle looked at him, biting her lip worriedly. What did she say to that? The conversation had taken a frighteningly solemn turn, and now she had no idea how to respond. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “That’s horrible.”

Gold cleared his throat. “It’s all right,” he said, forcing calm. “Anyways, I should go.”

Belle blinked as he stood up abruptly. “Go?” she echoed in surprise.

“I’ve got some work to catch up on,” he said, keeping his eyes down determinedly as he tucked his wand away. “I’ll see you later, Belle.”

“Bye, Rum—er, Ram—Rum?”

“ _Rumanus_ ,” he corrected with a small smile. “But _Rum’_ s fine.”

“Okay.” Belle smiled, holding her hand up in farewell. “Bye, Rum.”

“Bye.”

Belle waited until he had disappeared back to his side of the library before lowering her eyes to the Transfiguration textbook again. _What an odd boy_ , she thought to herself as she started flipping through pages again. Rum had a strange way about him: he had thousand-year-old eyes, and yet he seemed to be positively sparking with quick-fire wit and brilliance. It almost frightened her how odd he was.

Although, she reflected, he had a very nice smile, too.

 


End file.
